


Learning Curve

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blind Sam Winchester, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-29
Updated: 2007-10-29
Packaged: 2019-02-13 13:43:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12985296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sometimes it takes losing part of yourself to find the thing that you didn’t know you were missing.





	Learning Curve

 

Sometimes it takes losing part of yourself to find the thing that you didn’t know you were missing.

When Sam first lost his eyesight, before he let himself accept that it wasn’t coming back, he would lash out at anyone that tried to tell him that things needed to change. Dean would easily sidestep his fists, older brother advantage amplified by the ability to see the punch coming while Sam was lost to the hands that held him back. Ellen invested in plastic, bit back the wince when Sam threw the cup at the floor hard enough to crack, drowning in whiskey and letting the world fade out until it matched the darkness he saw when he opened his eyes. Jo didn’t push; just fit herself around the jagged edges he left behind until they smoothed back down like the ocean pulling across the surface of his skin.

Eventually, Sam learned to let himself live without. Without his sight and the sharp press of black ink on white paper, photographic memory useless without the lens to capture the world as it passed by. Without the smudge of newsprint on his fingertips and the silence of another town library pounding in his ears. He learned to live without the hunt, heartbeat quick trip hammering inside the cage of his ribs – more of a liability at Dean’s back with no reference point to guide the blade in his hand. He learned to let Dean leave, to let Jo distract him with the tilt of her voice and the startle of cold fingers on his wrist.

Eventually, Sam learned how to live again. The hollow place inside - filled for too long with Latin and blood and deathbed promises – drew in a breath and captured the new world. He let the dust of the road filter back in, carried by travelers and Dean’s boots instead of his own feet. He let Jo’s perfume wind inside, salty sweet and whisky sharp. He learned the grain of the wood under his hands, traced the sticky residue of a thousand beer bottles circling across the surface with the pads of his fingers. He learned the shift of Dean’s shoulder under his palm, dropped the boundaries built up between them when a look was no longer enough, when he needed to feel the strength under Dean’s skin instead of the fierceness in his eyes. He learned the curve of Jo’s neck, the bow of her back arching off the bed underneath him, the swell of her belly growing with life marching on.

He learned that the world didn’t stop spinning just because you were looking at it from a different point of view.


End file.
